


Caress Your Skin

by deferney



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jealousy, M/M, moulin rouge - Freeform, niall horan is a special snowflake with a past that makes me sob, sideline Ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deferney/pseuds/deferney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blonde said the words offhandedly, as though it was a normal occurrence—which, Louis guessed, it probably was. “Zayn and Liam are a package deal, so even if you’d gone for that I don’t think you could’ve handled it on your first try. I should’ve known Harry would take the cake.”</p><p>For a split second Louis wanted to ask why he had to be a damned cake, but then he stopped, and stared up at the lad—man, really—in wonder as he breathed out, “Harry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caress Your Skin

**Caress Your Skin**  
  
When Louis went into Moulin Rouge he wanted only quick, hot, stress-relieving sex. Although it was supposed to be all visual, he’d heard the rumors of how easy it was to get one of the girls. He just hoped it was as easy to get one of the blokes.

The thing about Moulin Rouge is that every employee there is beautiful—breathtakingly beautiful, and shockingly so. You go in wanting a good time, and you leave with insecurities through the roof.

So when entering, he wasn’t shocked by the clear, beautiful eyes of girls and their curved figures. He wasn’t shocked by the cute blonde lad in a risqué waiter’s outfit with the bright blue eyes and a muscular but lean build. He hardly flinched when a gorgeous tan lad whose body was littered with tattoos sucked at the neck of another bloke in an outfit similar to his own. The guy, with a nice jaw and dark brown eyes, made eye contact with Louis and smiled with a sweet look—much too innocent to be having his skin suckled so crudely by his coworker.

It was when he was seated at a table for two, and began looking around, that he was shocked. The previous act, which had been on when Louis entered, had gone off stage, and now everyone’s attention seemed too wrapped around the bloke on stage. And  _damn_ , Louis knew why.

The guy was tall, definitely taller than him, and muscled. Brown curls went askew as he partook in the lewd hip thrusts, body rolling in impossibly attractive waves. Bright emerald eyes were alight with mischief, and Louis took note of the perfect pearly whites that bit seductively at unbearably pink and full lips. His abs, visible through his unbuttoned vest, were defined in almost soft way and immediately Louis’ mind travelled to ways of making those muscles clench in anticipation—in want—no, in  _need_ of—

“When you walked in, I should’ve known you’d go for that type,” the Irish accent jerked him out of his awestruck gaze, to see that the cute blonde waiter had occupied the seat across from his.

“What?” He mumbled out, eyes glancing down to see a coaster on his otherwise empty table.

“You eyed me, but mostly I get the older ones that’ve got a thing for teenagers.” The blonde said the words offhandedly, as though it was a normal occurrence—which, Louis guessed, it probably was. “Zayn and Liam are a package deal, so even if you’d gone for that I don’t think you could’ve handled it on your first try. I should’ve known Harry would take the cake.”

For a split second Louis wanted to ask why  _he_ had to be a damned  _cake_ , but then he stopped, and stared up at the lad—man, really—in wonder as he breathed out, “Harry.”

At that, the blonde burst into loud laughter that Louis could  _see_  around them in swirling circles. He liked this bloke, he decided. “What’s your name?”

As the words left Louis’ mouth, something in the blue eyes changed; they seemed surprised. He was clearly taken aback, though he shrugged and said, “Name’s Niall.”

He stood then, rubbing his hands on his naked thighs, “I was supposed to be getting you a drink, but you seemed like a right lad, so I thought I’d have a sit. What would you like?”

Shit. He should probably buy something. A beverage, probably. But, before he could even think of words, a question spilled out of him and, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the stage, he asked, “How do I get him?”

Niall smiled softly, “He’s a bit expensive. Boss likes to keep him for the business men only. I’m sorry, mate, but you probably couldn’t afford his left pinkie toe.”

Louis was rightly shocked by the words, and looked down at his dark black, wash-worn jeans, and plain white t-shirt. The scuffed red Converse on his feet made him look his actual age—twenty-four—though didn’t properly express his social class. He was the CEO of the largest worldwide music industry. He’d made sure to keep his face completely out of the press, because he’d very quietly inherited the company from his father almost two years ago. Louis Tomlinson, twenty-five in six months, was a billionaire.

Not wanting to reveal himself, even to someone he already decided he trusted, Louis just grinned devilishly, “I don’t think I’ll have any problems there, mate.”

Something dawned in Niall’s eyes and they widened, as his back straightened and instinctive professionalism took over. “Yes, Sir, I’ll be sure to inform our employee of your request. While you wait would you care for a beverage?”

Louis burst into laughter at the sudden change, “You haven’t got to worry, Nialler. I’m not some snobby, posh bastard.”

Although his expression lightened a bit, his posture didn’t, and he repeated his question, “Would you care for a beverage, Sir?”

He grinned, still amused at his new friend, “I’ll just have water.”

A curt nod and the blonde turned to leave.

“Oh, and Niall?” Immediately, blue eyes expectantly met even bluer ones, and Louis smiled, “Don’t call me ‘Sir.’ Name’s Louis.”

Something in the short one relaxed then, and he grinned again, all but skipping off to the bar where he began animatedly speaking to the pair of brown eyed lads who’d been going at it when Louis first walked in. He stared at them until they looked over at him, arms entangled around each other. He evaluated there inquisitive gazes and winked, causing the darker one to smirk and the innocent looking one to laugh. Liam and Zayn—is that what Niall said their names were?

He turned back to the stage, a new act on. A bit sad he missed Harry’s performance, though hopeful for an encore later that night, Louis tipped his glass toward Niall in thanks as he received it.

“How much is a week’s worth of nights?” Louis asked. “With Harry, specifically.”

Niall’s eyes widened, and Louis watched him do a bit of mental math, before, “At the least, ten thousand—si—Louis.”

Louis smiled brightly; that wasn’t very expensive. “I’ll have him every night for the next week, then—if that’s allowed.”

Niall mumbled out a reply and scampered off towards the sage; probably off to tell Harry of the ‘strange, rich bloke with the glasses.’

Behind the glass raised to his lips, Louis smirked.

  
It took three hours, seven and a half glasses of water, four bathroom trips, and three separate conversations with Niall, before Harry was ‘open for business’—as the Irishman so crudely put it.

He was brought up stairs, to a hallway filled with bright colors and lewd noises, though most were muffled by the thumping music coming from the club. The last room on the right is where Niall brought him, and with one solid thump on the back and a bright, “Hope you can walk tomorrow!”

Before walking in the room, Louis turned to the bouncing blonde as he walked away, “Why won’t  _I_ be able to walk?”

Niall laughed cheekily and said, without fully turning, “With an arse like that? Please, mate. You can run—but not very fast with that thing on your end.”

Both were satisfied with Niall’s strange response, and Louis walked into the seemingly empty room.

It had an extravagant,  _enormous_ bed, the entire room color coordinated with black and red everywhere.  _The two sexiest colors_ , Louis mused.

The bed, to his right, sat across from two bookshelves sitting side by side, decked out with books shoved into every crevice. Did Harry actually _live_  in this room?  A bay window was open, allowing the crisp late night air swirl around the room. On the same wall as the bed, in the corner, an intricate stereo system was set up, CDs stacked all around it. In the opposite corner, a tall wardrobe was closed, though he could see what appeared to be a black t-shirt sleeve poking out the bottom drawer. To his right, a door was closed, light showing through the bottom.

“Niall,” a deep, gravelly voice sent shivers down Louis’ spine. The sarcastic tone didn’t go past Louis as Harry spoke, “Please inform the ‘wonderful customer’ that it’ll only be a minute—I’m not quite…ready…”

Louis stuck his hand up, as if to greet Harry, though it looked more like a boyscout being sworn into the secret society of campers.  “Hi!” He said brightly, “Wonderful customer here—I prefer Louis though, if that’s alright. I’ll just explore your bookshelf while you get ready if that’s all right, then?”

“I—uh—ah…” Harry sputtered, looking helplessly at feathery bloke swaggering up to his bookshelf. Louis, as he faced he shelf, took in a shaky breath. Good  _God_ that guy was  _beautiful_. He was shirtless and his hair was wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

A few seconds of silence as Louis pretended to be interested in Harry’s admittedly impressive taste in literature, and then Harry stuttered out, “If you could come this way, please, Sir.”

He spun around to see that Harry hadn’t moved, though did seem to have a bitter grip on himself. “What’s with all you lads and that ‘Sir’ shit? Louis, please. Sir’s for my—”

“Father?” Harry said, quirking an eyebrow.

Louis stopped, grinned, and said, “Great uncle—actually.”

At this, Harry seemed a bit surprised and a small laugh escaped. With the tension broken a bit, Louis followed Harry through the doorway he’d just walked out of. It led to long hallway, on the right there were five sinks and a large mirror, and on the left three doors. One, opened, revealed a large, clean, albeit relatively barren, bathroom. The other two were shut, and Harry motioned to them with a wave of his hand, “One closest to mine is Niall’s, the other is Liam and Zayn’s—they have lots of loud sex, so we keep them as far away as possible.”

“So you live here then?” Louis inquired. “It doesn’t make you hate your job?”

“Considering I live here free of charge? No,” Harry laughed, leaning against the sink, crossing his arms. “Any other questions about my living arrangements before we enter the Room of Fun?”

He evaluated the muscles and jawline, and after a moment, asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” an easy enough question, one Harry didn’t seem too bothered by. He seemed to be anticipating something, though.

Louis, unable to guess what the taller man expected, looked about for a second and said, “There are five sinks, but four living attendants.”

It wasn’t a question, but immediately Louis saw a tensing in Harry’s muscles. For a second he thought maybe there was a past lover, but then Harry’s eyes flickered to Niall’s door before they glanced at him. He didn’t say anything and turned, so Louis followed the tense back muscles with only a slight weariness.

What he entered was the scariest room he’d ever seen—or maybe the one that made his imagination run the most wild. There was a plain bed, much less appealing than Harry’s, and along the back wall, sex toys sat delicately on shelves—if there’s a way a sexy toy can be delicate. On the ceiling rested a giant mirror, which Louis found he didn’t dislike. He coughed.

“What is all this?”

Harry turns around, face painstakingly bright, “The Room of Fun! Very seldom do we have customers who find anything in here appallingly unappealing—however if you’d like there’s a much simpler room a few—”

“Oh, love,” Louis couldn’t stop the words that stumble out of him as he stared at the man before him—suddenly only seeing a young lad beneath cowering beneath hard muscles and nice teeth. “You’re broken, aren’t you?”

Harry’s face dropped, and he suddenly glared harshly at Louis. Before blue eyes could react, lips crashed upon lips.

“Shut up,” Harry said as he pulled away. “You don’t know anything.”

Louis, shocked, only nodded dumbly as Harry lifted him by his thighs. Instinctively, legs wrapped around firm (now naked) hips, and the two kissed roughly, teeth clashing.

Harry carried him to the bed, wreaking havoc on Louis’ once delicate mouth. Quick, slightly rough, but otherwise harmless sex had always been his thing. But then, being dominated so fully— submitting so easily to someone he didn’t know— was such a…fascinating feeling. He decided it wasn’t unpleasant.

The perfect teeth he’d admired hours earlier nipped persistently at his lower lip until he hesitantly opened his mouth into their next kiss. What he expected to be a harsh and demanding tongue was instead languid and only curious—tracing teeth and wrapping around his own tongue. Louis squeaked and, with one final peck, said, “Wait, how are we—”

Harry wasn’t having any talking, however, as he immediately latched on to Louis’ neck. He suckled at Louis’ skin; Louis, whose lips allowed a sigh and whose eyes fluttered shut, didn’t really mind. As Harry tried to make his way to Louis’ torso, he was incessantly stopped by Louis’ black shirt, until finally he tore it at the neck, revealing slim, lightly defined muscles.

“My shirt!” Louis yelped, incredulous.          

“Oh shut it,” Harry mumbled, scraping his teeth along Louis’ collarbone, causing Louis to whine. “If you can afford me you can buy a new shirt.”

Something resembling a laugh escaped Louis, though he was quickly silenced as Harry tongue-assaulted his way down Louis’ abs. He nibbled at his hips, causing said hips to buck up.

Eyes wide, Louis looked down, chest heaving. Harry looked up with a devilish grin, unbuttoning Louis’ jeans, and then pulling down the zipper with his teeth.  _Oh, okay, that’s new…_

Louis’ plain black boxers stretched over his half-hard cock. Slowly, both his boxers and pants were pulled down, and Louis took that opportunity to also throw his shirt and glasses in the slowly building pile of clothes as his socks and shoes were added until he wore only a chain-linked silver necklace.

Louis leaned back, closing his eyes as Harry’s sharp jaw and warm breath neared his member. “Wait—but—I don’t like—”

Only, it didn’t matter; Harry already seemed to know  _exactly_ what he liked. He knew to suck at the head and to nibble at his thighs. He knew to trace his veins with his tongue. He most definitely knew how to deep throat. Louis groaned, looking down as Harry’s nose met his stomach. Then the head bobbing and that damned  _tongue_ and the way his teeth delicately scraped the underside of Louis’ cock  _God_ he was so close to coming—would that be okay? Could he come in Harry’s mouth?

Suddenly images of his cum spilling from Harry’s pink lips fluttered through his mind and just a few seconds more and he would—

Cold air assaulted his warm, wet skin, and he whined high in his throat, back arching off the cream colored sheets.

“Isn’t the point of your job that I come?!” Louis yelled, groaning in frustration.

Harry chuckled, “I’ll be right back.  _No touching_.”

So he lay there for twenty-six seconds, staring at himself in the mirror, chest heaving. His cheeks were flushed and his muscles tense, cock hard and high. Just when he was sure it was all a scam and he was going to be left there to rot (because moving just made too much sense, Tomlinson), Harry’s footsteps brought him out of his reverence, and he turned his head to see a cheeky grin and swinging hips.

The thing everyone failed to mention to Louis—or maybe he’d failed to notice until then—was that Harry’s cock was huge. It stood thick and long and hard, though not weeping and desperate like Louis’. Harry laughed at Louis’ wide eyes.

“Oh,” he grinned teasingly, climbing on the bed, “this is going to be fun.”

So without much warning, two fingers coated in a cold  substance slowly pushed their way into Louis’ hole, instinctively causing Louis’ knees to bend. Harry’s fingers were long and persistent, pushing and pulling and twisting until he hit it—and damn, he didn’t have to worry about wondering when he had hit it.

Once Harry’s fingers brushed Louis’ prostate, Louis arched high, head thrown back, hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Please—please—again…”

Had he always been a beg-er? He didn’t think so. No man had ever turned him into a puddle of goo so quickly. There was just something about this one—maybe it was the way his hair fell into his eyes as he stared down at Louis, or maybe the wicked grin on red, moist lips. Either way, Louis knew he never— _never_ —wanted this sweet, delicate, addictive torture to end.

But sadly, the relentless curling and twisting and  _jerking_  movements inside him ended with a sudden finesse, almost, as Harry grinned at him sweetly when he stared back with wide, desperate eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re leaving again.”

At this, Harry gave a proper laugh—head thrown back—and Louis found he loved the sound of the rough, child-like laughter that spurted from what he knew to be such a sinful mouth. “I’m not,” Harry conceded. “We’ll get straight to the fun, now, since you’re so impatient.”

And  _wow_ was it fun. Harry spread Louis’ tan thighs, kept him on his back, and pushed in, once, firmly—to the hilt. Elbows resting on either side of Louis’ head, then a pair of wide blue eyes met a calm pair of emerald ones. Instantly, Louis knew he was screwed.

Because no one could be that calm and that good at sex and be that empty in the eyes. Suddenly, all Louis wanted to do was fix the broken brunette.

“Oi!” Harry suddenly yelled, rutting against the elder, and a choked whine caught in Louis’ throat. “I’m here; get your mind out the gutter!”

Harry, it seemed, liked the attention solely on him. Louis found he didn’t mind very much. He shook his head once, and then stared up at his lover as the rocking began. It was only a twist of the hips at first, as though teasing, seeing if Louis enjoyed it. When impatience took over and he slammed his hips up to meet the others’, Louis watched as Harry’s brain clicked and he pounded into Louis.

He leaned closer, closing his eyes, now resting on his forearms. Louis realized that, even if he tried, he couldn’t close his eyes, and instead enjoyed the way Harry’s brow furrowed and his mouth opened as harsh breaths were sucked in. It’s not that he wasn’t enjoyed being fucked so harshly he was sure he was getting brush burn (was that even  _possible_ against sheets?), but it was more like he was being surrounded by so many different things at once he didn’t know how to respond.

First, there was the incredibly long, thick, hot, pulsing (the adjectives never ended, to be honest) cock wreaking havoc on his prostate. Then there were the clenched abdominal muscles—which, it turned out, were just as attractive clenched during sex as they were when doing waves on a stage. Next was the long, enticing neck that was stretched as Harry threw his head back. Unable to help himself at the exposed spans of skin, Louis leant forward and sucked harshly just below the Adam’s apple, smiling and nibbling against the skin when Harry groaned hoarsely.

Suddenly, large, boney, calloused hands threaded into Louis’ hair and yanked him back. The elder yelped out in pain. “What the hell?!”

Harry didn’t stop, leaning forward as the rutting continued just as quickly as before, until his forehead rested on the mattress right beside Louis’ head. “No marks,” Harry panted. “Company policy. Looks bad to customers.”

“I’ve got you for a damned  _week_ and I can’t even give you a hickey?” Louis hissed, leaning towards Harry until his cheek was pressed to the brunette’s.

“Sorry, babe,” Harry said sourly. “Dark marks on perfect skin don’t look good under the light, yeah? And besides, after this week I’ve still got to bring in customers—can’t have my world revolving around one rich bloke.”

The idea of Harry having other lovers had never occurred to him until then, and at it he  _slammed_ into the older one, both of them arching at the achingly good contact.

And from then it was silence, only the slapping of skin and loud pants and moans and groans and  _god_ was Harry  _whimpering in his ear_? This wasn’t okay.

Except it was okay.

It was very,  _very_ okay to be having the best fuck of his life in a room full of sex toys by a male prostitute four years his younger.

It had to be okay—what with the way his back was arching and their skin was touching as he came between them and the way Harry was whimpering in his neck as he  _continued_ to pound him and wow he must have wonderful stamina because Louis became just a limp pile of limbs.

“Come on,” he whispered hotly into Harry’s ear, smiling a bit when he moaned. “Come for me, come on babe, come.”

And with a few harsh, quick pumps, as Louis gripped the bars of the metal headboard and whined because he was too sensitive for so much stimulation, Harry scratched his nails down Louis’ waist as he came, resting his face in Louis’ neck and trying to calm his stuttering breath.

“Well,” Louis said with a loud sigh, “I expect the next week to be very,  _very_ interesting—wouldn’t you say so, Harold?”

Harry whimpered.

  
The shitty part about buying a week of amazing sex is that it must end. On the last day, after giving and receiving an amazing blowjob, he and Harry lay curled around each other in Harry’s personal bed. Two days before, after three days of toy exploration, they’d moved to Harry’s room permanently. Louis hadn’t seen the Room of Fun in so long he was sure it was just a dream.

Though dominant during sex, Harry enjoyed being submissive in the aftermath, Louis learned early on. He enjoyed being carried to his own bed when they were somewhere else. He liked to curl around Louis like a cat and snuggle into warm, moist skin until they were dried and rested. Mostly, though, Louis found, he liked to talk. Not to an annoying extent, seeing as he usually konked out within half an hour of sex, but enough to allow Louis some time into the younger’s delicate, sweet mind.

On the outside he remained an icon of sex appeal to Louis. On the inside, however, Harry revealed himself. Harry liked his chips crunchy and words beautifully scripted in the novels he read. He enjoyed watching the sunrise, and had an alarm set to spend time doing just that every work day. He preferred tea to any beverage and disliked breakfast foods. On Sundays, his only day off, he liked to walk around town and admire old architecture and street music. Louis felt that, besides lovers, he and Harry were mates.

“Last day,” Louis said absently, trailing his fingers down Harry’s arm, which was curled around Louis’ waist protectively as he nuzzled his face into Louis’ neck.

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I cut the sex short. Just wanted to lay here with you.”

He was subtly saying what neither wanted to admit; that they were more than sex.

“Hey Harry,” Louis said quietly, listening to the thump of the club downstairs. He’d come in a bit earlier than usual today, not wanting to waste any time.

“Hmm?” Though his response was muffled, Louis knew Harry was wide awake, could feel it in the way his heart beat fluttered erratically in his side—sending his own pulse racing as a side effect.

“Why are there five sinks?” He said it as delicately as he could, hoping to convey that, no, Harry didn’t have to answer.

Harry sighed, obviously having expected the question. He rolled over, and immediately Louis made to beg for forgiveness in case the brunette was mad. It wasn’t until he saw the way Harry was staring up at the ceiling in a calm manner that he realized they were okay.

“Eli was technically my cousin through two marriages and really we’re not related at all,” Harry finally began. “But, in all honesty, he was more like my brother. He was three months older than me, and when we lived together he was the closest thing to real family I ever had. I mean, my mum, she was alright, but I never felt…I never felt part of the family, you know? I always felt like an outsider. Anyway, he lived with us because his dad had run off for a bit—his mum’d never been around—and one day, days before his dad returned, actually, he told me his dad had been molesting him. He was crying, telling me that it’d been going on since he was eight—we were sixteen. So when his dad came back…”

Harry trailed off, and shrugged, swallowing loudly. Louis, unsure of himself, only rested his hand furthest from Harry across his waist, steadying the shallow breaths to calm ones. This seemed to be enough for the younger to go on, and he continued. “He didn’t want to go back, obviously. Looking back, I probably could’ve told my mom and let her take over, but…I was sixteen, positive that I knew better than everyone, and decided that we run off so that he never had to see his dad again. Maybe it was so I didn’t have to face my pathetic excuse of a life, as well.”

He mumbled the last bit as if an afterthought, and there was a bit of silence as he gathered himself again. “So somehow we made our way here, because we were hot and young and had raging hormones anyway, so why not get paid to do something we would’ve done regardless? Not long after, Ni—Niall showed up and something with them…”

“Something with them just clicked,” Harry said with a sense of finality. “They were soulmates—literally. I’ve never seen two people so opposite yet so perfect together as them. Quite literally ying and yang, you know?”

Louis didn’t, but he nodded anyway.

“For two years there were nothing but hearts in their eyes and lots of sex— _blimey_  the amount of sex they had—” Harry broke off with a laugh. “Anyway, they were perfect. And then…well, things with Eli got weird, for lack of a better term. He was staying out later than needed with clients and he was snapping at Niall—and let me just say it’s damned near impossible to be angry with Niall—and he was just…there was something wrong.”

“Drugs?” Louis guessed so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Harry nodded. “Wasn’t his fault—and I know everyone says that about loved ones—but it really wasn’t. A client, a strong, demanding one, slipped it into a drink. He became addicted—Ecstasy. One of the side effects of E…He was so depressed, and trying to hide it. That’s the thing, though, if they try hard enough; they can hide it.”

Again, Harry nodded, though too wrapped in his own mind to probably even notice. “He hid it so well. And of course we just thought he was going through a rough patch, though usually Niall could help with those. It got so bad sometimes Niall was sleeping in my room, just so he didn’t have to deal with either being alone or being yelled at. And on one of the nights he slept in my room…Eli hung himself. No note, no goodbye, no warning—not even a noise that night. Niall found him when he got up that morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis said quietly.

Harry rolled over, again curling around him. He shook his head, “Don’t be that. You’re more than that. Don’t be those same words. You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m not sorry for you, Harry,” he explained. “I’m sorry to him. For leaving everything over something he hardly could control. I’m sorry to Niall, for losing his heart. I’m sorry to you, for taking all the blame on something you couldn’t have known about.”

“How do you know I—”

Harry stopped at the look in Louis eyes. And when their eyes met, Louis knew he was in love—because no one can leave someone that beautiful and broken that’s just  _begging_ to be whole again.

“I’ll fix you, love,” Louis promised aloud. Harry’s eyes searched his for something for what felt like years, until finally, Harry pressed a hesitant kiss to Louis’ lips, and together they made love.

The shitty part about loving a prostitute was the work hours. Louis would spend nine hours in an office, and though he kept it as unprofessional as possible and employees rode scooters around and dressed in jeans, when he got off work all he wanted to do was throw on a pair of sweatpants, lie in Harry’s bed, and curl around his lover while Harry read.

Sadly, Harry never got off work before two in the morning—so after only half an hour of conversation the day after his promise, he went home and crashed on to his bed immediately. With Harry’s number saved in his phone, he waited a few days before heading back, under the pretense of hoping to avoid seeming too attached (though texting every second of every day didn’t equal attachment at all).

Something about the air felt different when he entered, though it appeared as though nothing had changed. He did a two-finger salute to Liam and Zayn, who already seemed to be drawing the attention of an attractive lass with light brown hair and hazel eyes, though both sent him relatively warm greetings in return. In the week he’d spent upstairs, he’d had the odd conversations with all three of the lads, and had come to consider them mates as well. He didn’t know what that said about his social life, though he chose to ignore that.

He was sat at a small booth towards the back, and smiled easily up at Niall when the Irish lad saddled up to his table in his usual uniform. “Tommo! Was beginning to think you’d given up on Harold.”

He scoffed, “Never! I’ll have a water.”

When Niall returned with his water, he saw it in Niall’s eyes: Harry had a customer. He set the water down delicately, and rocked back and forth on his heels. Louis stared at the empty booth across from him.

How was he to respond? His lover was a prostitute. He was very, very aware of the fact. Was jealousy allowed? Was it wrong of him to be angry?

Whether it was allowed or not seemed irrelevant, and Louis felt a burning spread throughout his body. It wasn’t the good kind that he got when he thought of or looked at or touched or licked Harry. It was the kind that happened when he thought of  _someone else_ thinking of, looking at, touching, licking  _his Harry_. This hadn’t come up previously, with other blokes. He had no idea how to respond to the vehement need to run up the familiar stairs, tear open the door, and rip apart whoever had decided he was worthy of Harry. What if they were on Harry’s bed?

The thought struck him loudly and stopped his brain.

_What if they were on Harry’s bed?_

His head jerked up to Niall, who seemed to be reading Louis’ general thought process. “I have to get up there.”

Almost comically, he jerked out of the seat, meaning to fly past Niall and straight to the second floor. Niall, expecting this, caught the elder by his waist, and dragged him back to his seat, flinging him into the booth.

“Harry is with a client, Sir,” Niall’s voice took on that tone that said ‘right now I have to be professional. I’m sorry that you’re in love with my mate but he’ll kill both of us if you ruin this and then the boss’ll kill him and it’ll only be Liam and Zayn left and that’s too much sex and not enough thinking for the world to continue.’

“Niall—” He broke off and looked up at Niall with a wild gleam in his eyes. He felt like clawing something, himself, maybe, so that he’d feel pain in a place besides his soul. “Niall I have to stop them. They—they can’t—not Harry—not my—”

“Harry, Sir,” Niall said in an almost patronizing tone. “A very good, consistent worker of four years here at the Moulin Rouge, is currently unable to see any visitors. It is likely he will be detained for the next two to four hours. However, if you’re willing to wait that long, Sir, you will happily be escorted to him.”

“Oh cut the ‘Sir’ shit, Niall,” Louis finally groaned, leaning forward with his face in his hands. After a moment he looked up, “Do I have to pay to see him?”

“If Mr. Styles says that the relationship is personal and not business related, no, Sir, payment will no longer be required to visit the employee. However, you will not be allowed to interfere with work—no matter how personal the relationship.”

So Louis Tomlinson sat for three hours and forty-two minutes, without movement. Niall picked up each drink and brought him a new every half hour, though he refused touch any of them. He stared at the back door in wait, knowing that the second the customer left Harry would be informed of his presence.

After three hours and forty-two minutes, Niall plopped down across from him. “Though the customer has left, Sir, Mr. Styles requested you not meet him. In fact, he requested you not return for the next three days.”

Three days. It would be Sunday in three days.

Desperate, Louis yanked at his hair and stared at Niall. “Why would he say that, Niall? Have I messed up?”

It must have been a stupid question in Niall’s mind, though it seemed perfectly acceptable in Louis’. “No, you twat,” Niall finally giggled. “You’re perfect for ol’ Harold, which is why he wants you to wait a few days. This customer…well…he’s rough.”

“Oi!” Louis said with a furrowed brow as his mind processed what was said. “I wasn’t even allowed to bite his neck—this bloke can—he can…this  _twat_  can…”

Once he realized what it was some bloke could do to his Harry, he stopped and glared at the back door.

Niall sighed. “He buys him for seventy-two hours, but only uses him for about three—so he has time to recover.”

Recover. God, Harry had to  _recover_ from whatever  _sick_ and  _twisted_  things only  _he_ was allowed to do to Harry. What if Harry was enjoying it?

 _Oh_ , now  _that was **completely unacceptable.**_

Niall kicked his shin underneath the table, and he jerked back to the Irishman. “Go home, idiot,” Niall finally says with a sad look in his eyes. “Stay away. If he doesn’t answer your calls or texts, he’s probably asleep. On Sundays he gets up around eight, so be here for seven at the earliest.”

So he was banging on Harry’s door at six forty-five on Sunday, holding a bag of pastries and two steaming cups of tea.

His lover jerked open the door in only a pair of boxers, eyes completely shut. “If you’re not Louis go away.”

“I’m Louis,” he said flatly, and watched a bit amusedly as Harry’s large hand reached out until he latched on to Louis’ grey shirt and yanked him inside—all without opening his eyes.

“I’ve got food, love,” Louis told the brunette. There wasn’t really a response from said brunette, though, as he mumbled and fell face first into the bed, sprawling across the entire thing. Louis grinned and crawled in behind his lover after he kicked off his Toms. They curled around one another and slept until noon, and, momentarily, Louis forgot he was jealous.

Forgetting was damned near impossible when every night his boyfriend (were they boyfriends?) had a customer.  _Every night_.

Soon, what used to be sweet Sunday mornings turned into yelling and crying and door slamming because  _Damnit Harry you could take a night off from **that**  part of your job every once in a while_, and— _you’ve obviously never been a prostitute before, Louis. Oh, that’s right! You’ve had your entire life **handed**  to you!_

But Harry never sat for hours, staring at a door, hoping—praying, that that day he’d be allowed to see his lover after a session. He never sat hoping for something that never happened, though. For six months and three weeks, Louis Tomlinson sat in a club six nights a week, staring at a door. He waited for brown curls and green eyes and perfect teeth once they left the stage each night, but the never came for him.

Until one Sunday, when the week before Harry’s client had been so cruel Harry didn’t allow Louis to see him, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer.

He banged on Harry’s door at his usual six forty-five. He didn’t have his usual food and drink. He was not even in his usual clothes; he had got a client meeting in a few hours, so he instead he decided to wear a button down and khakis. The door swung open as usual, but instead of entering, Louis stared at Harry, silent, until the younger lad woke up enough to realize that whatever was going on was serious.

“You can’t work here anymore,” Louis said firmly.

“…What?” Harry shook his head, fixing his hair.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And that seemed to really wake up the younger, for his green eyes widened and he looked at his lover, terrified, suddenly. “Wait—why—what have I done?”

“I can’t sit down there anymore and know someone else is fucking you,” Louis said crudely. He did his best to ignore the way Harry flinched and stared at the ground.

“Well it’s not like I ask you to do that, Louis,” Harry said quietly, hunching his shoulders as though meaning to curl in on himself. Louis realized the cold hallway air was probably uncomfortable against Harry’s naturally warm skin, though he told himself not to care then.

“But don’t you get it, Haz?” Louis gripped Harry’s face in his hands, suddenly finally feeling older than the taller lad. “When you looked at me with those broken eyes and grinned at me with your perfect teeth—when you tore me to pieces in this foreign and delicious way—that’s exactly what you asked me to. You asked me to love you and want you to be only mine. And you know you did.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and he nibbled his bottom lip.

“I told you I’d fix you,” Louis whispered. “Why won’t you let me?”

At this, green eyes snapped open angrily, “There is nothing _wrong_  with me!”

He yanked away from Louis’ hands, and immediately Louis missed the warmth of the familiar skin. “No, no love that’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“I want to take you away from this,” Louis begged, hoping to save whatever bits of his perfect world he’d so quickly screwed up.

“No!” Harry said angrily, jerking to meet Louis’ eyes and sending his curls askew. “You want to mold your little play thing to fit into your stupid, materialistic world. You don’t want  _me_. If you did you’d be able to accept me for what I do.”

Harry didn’t understand. Louis  _did_ accept him. He just hated every second he knew anyone other than him was touching what was his. He hated the burning in his body and the way for a split second each night he’d hate Harry a little because what if he was enjoying someone else more than he enjoyed Louis? He hated the looks of pity Liam sent him and he hated the way his work was suffering because he could never sleep anymore. He hated not being able to have Harry—all of him, all the time, forever.

Harry took Louis’ silence as something else, and he laughed dryly. “Well this has been fun—you were a quite a  _wonderful_ customer, Louis. Don’t come back.”

The words slapped him.

Sad blue eyes met angry, guarded green ones, and quietly, Louis said, “Do you mean that?”

Harry didn’t falter. Maybe if he had, even the slightest, Louis would’ve fought more. But Harry seemed sure as he scoffed and said, “You weren’t that great of a shag.”

Then Harry slammed the door in Louis’ face, and though he waited for three hours, standing, staring at the floor, the door never opened again.

It took two months for Louis to stop going to club every night—and another one for him to stop going completely.

When he saw Harry again, three years later, they were at a shop not far from the Moulin Rouge. He and Niall were going at it in the pasta aisle over which type of noodle to buy, and when Louis realized who he was staring at amusedly, the box of cereal in his hand fell the ground. Two pairs of eyes looked over at him.

Niall smiled a bit hesitantly, but Harry didn’t move.

Louis, unsure of how to react, picked up the box and made his way past the two with only a small wave at the Irishman. As he walked past them, all he heard was silence.

If there was one thing that was foreign to he and Harry, it was silence. There was always noise, before. Breathing, moaning, whining, panting, humming, crying, yelling, singing, whispering—something, there was always  _something_  to keep the silence from their ears.

So as he neared the end of the aisle, he found himself turning.

“Hey Haz?” Louis said, rocking on his heels as Harry slowly turned toward him, eyes still wide.

“Yeah?” His voice was just as rough and sexy as it had been three years ago. Shivers ran down Louis’ spine, though he hoped it went unnoticed.

“Can I just be wonderful?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What are you on about?”

Louis couldn’t help but smile. “You always—I was the ‘wonderful customer’ remember?”

“I don’t have customers anymore,” Harry said the words so quietly it took Louis a minute to process them, and immediately his heart soared.

“Well, good,” Louis nodded, unsure of how to respond, though he hoped his happiness wasn’t obvious. “Then…Can I just be wonderful? Can—can we…be wonderful? Together?”

Their eyes searched for that fire, the spark that was there so long ago in one another. There must’ve been an ember ablaze, because Harry gave a small smile. “Yeah, we can.”

**_End._ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably one of my favorite oneshots I've written. It was a prompt fill for a Moulin Rouge esque 1D. Hope you all enjoyed!  
> Love all, give kudos, leave a comment, hug a tree~!  
> -Def


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